The Gift
by Shrikestorm
Summary: A prologue of the prologue... Dusk's first steps into freeing the will


This is my first piece, sorry about the length. I hope you enjoy it – if not please tell me why!

SS

Dusk looked around at the party. It was lavish, luxurious and perfect – the Morrow Days were not ones to scrimp when it came to celebrating themselves. The room was seven-sided, and each wall was covered in a huge window which looked out on each of the Morrow Days' favourite scenes outside the House, and each according to their own day – naturally. Dusk's master, Mister Monday, had plumped for a calm view of some hillside or other on Earth during the time of the Romans. He had spent months deliberating his choice, going round in circles, crossing things out and writing things in… in the end his Noon and Dawn decided on the window - Monday had fallen asleep. _They are all fools,_ thought Dusk to himself,_ to spend more time deciding on a pretty picture than fixing the corruption of the House. The Morrow Days take credit for the Architect's work, when all they have done is abuse it…_

Dusk looked down at the champagne he had been idly swirling, amused as it changed colour with each turn, _loot from the Far Reaches, no doubt_ but he dare not question the actions of Lord Sunday just yet, _not until the Will is free_ he thought. With a pang in his heart he remembered his beloved Arya, Noon of Grim Tuesday, who had dared to defy the Morrow Days, and for that had suffered agony at the hands of her master, and had been reduced to Nothing. With a bitter smile Dusk wondered if she had ever been part of a Nithling. Wishing no more to dwell on the harsh memories of Arya, Dusk stood up and strode over to his twin, Monday's Noon.

"I had wondered where you had got to, brother" said Noon, without so much as a glance at Dusk.

"I was in the shadows, resting my eyes from the glare" said Dusk in his hoarse whisper

"Well that is hardly a change from the normal" sneered Noon, finally turning to look at the man in black. He looked his brother up and down, "and you're hardly fit for the occasion, this is supposed to be a party, not a funeral." Noon himself was dressed in a sky blue three-piece suit with long tails and a crimson cravat. His blond hair had been brushed to a shine and his blue eyes gave Dusk a stare as cold as their colour.

"It is somewhat difficult to dress gaily, if one's wardrobe is comprised of only black, Noon, I think even you would find it pressing to find a coat that was anything but fitting for, as you say, a funeral."

Dusk's face fell for a moment as he remembered the small and secret ceremony he held for Arya with his midnight visitors.

"Yes, well, that is of no matter," said Noon, unaware of Dusk's eternal sadness, "what is it that you want? A girl to dance with? I hear Lord Sunday has some excellent _mortals_ from the land of Karshla" Noon's mouth curled into a sneer as he spat out the word 'mortal' – many in the House saw them as temporary, more of a souvenir than a being.

"No, no, brother," whispered his twin, "I wish to talk to the Head of Will Inspection Corps, do you know where he might be found?"

Noon waved a gloved hand to Sir Thursday's sect (an excellent backdrop of the Battle of Waterloo), "Somewhere over there, I believe, getting drunk with the Chief of Ascending Elevators." Without further comment, Noon strode off to find their sister, Dawn, who was by far the favourite of his siblings.

_Some things never change_, thought Dusk as he walked briskly to the pair, _the denizens of the House insist on inebriated and making a fool of themselves before one of the Days has a chance to strip them from their posts…_

"Ah, gentlemen, how do you do? You are fine, well that is most excellent, do let me congratulate you both on achieving such fine posts. If you don't mind, Waypole," Dusk said, turning to the ruddy-faced Chief of Ascending Escalators, "may I borrow Theodoric here for a little chat? Yes? Thank you so much, good evening." Dusk firmly grasped the equally red-faced Head of Will Inspection Corps by his wrist and took him away from the fine wines table into the clear air.

"Now, Theodoric, I wish for you to give this to the new Inspector, do you hear? As a present."

"Wassa preshet?" burbled the denizen.

"A gift, man, a gift, do you think you can manage this for me? Straight away?" Dusk took a snuff-box from the empty hand with one raven-black glove it had bright enamelling that changed position whenever it was looked at from the corner of your eye and thrust it in the podgy palm of Theodoric. "Good man" smiled Dusk, and spun on the heel of his polished black boots and headed into the throng, grasping some pretty denizen by her wrist and leading her to a dance. _The wheels were set in motion._


End file.
